The Plural of 'I' Is 'We'
by ambiguously
Summary: Post-RotJ, Leia and Luke are the most important humans in Han's life.


Notes: Ignores expanded universe. Mentions past relationship between a teenager and an adult.

* * *

These things are true:

Han has been in love with Leia since that bounty hunter on Ord Mantell. She knew Han was nothing better than a no-name smuggler, she knew there was a price on his head, she knew he would run off to deal with his own problems when the first opportunity came along. But when the Mandolorian had gone after Han, Leia had gotten there first with a blaster. She's the most stubborn, fierce, beautiful woman Han's ever known, and he worked with Amada Ploy once. Love isn't his style, and he wears it like the borrowed robes of some pompous dignitary, fitted all wrong. But Leia, Leia wears her love like she wears all her beliefs: bright and perfect, the fabrics of her convictions only enhancing her beauty.

Han has known he's in love with Luke since the night Luke went missing, and the hell-cold was closing in, and everything Han ever thought mattered had evaporated with the knowledge Luke was out there somewhere. There's nothing like the gut-sucking jolt at the news someone's going to die to get you to know you need them. Han rode out, and he found his friend, and they huddled together during the frigid night under the shelter with only the cooling, stinking Tauntaun for heat. Han told him then, knowing Luke was too out of it to ever hear. After, there wasn't time, and now, Luke's a Jedi. Han only knows about the Jedi from stories, most of which emphasize that Jedi are celibate. It's fine.

Han's slept with seven women, including Amada Ploy, and he's gone most of the way with plenty more.

Officially, Han has only slept with one man, and that was Captain Carder, when Han was a lad of seventeen years. (Unofficially, that one time with Lando didn't count. They'd both been too drunk to keep it up before it'd gone anywhere.) By ship's day, Han absorbed everything there was to learn about scudding by star systems and turning a profit on contraband, and by night, he kept the old man's bunk warm. Han happily traded a suck, or a sticky shot on his belly, for the education he received each day, and never thought anything more of it until months after the old man caught the bad end of an Imperial raid. At a bar on Coruscant, toasting Carder's memory with other smugglers, Han's loose tongue spilled the price of his tuition, and the other youths in his group told him flat out he'd been raped. But Carder never hurt him, not unless he earned a box on the ear for dropping a valuable piece of cargo, whatever they said.

Wookiees don't mate with outworlders. Ever.

If Wookiees did mate with outworlders, Han's life would have been very different.

* * *

It's been three long days since they watched the Death Star burn above them. The party lasted two days, though Leia had to slip away after the first because factions in the Alliance have already started piecing out the corpse of the expired Empire. They need to consolidate and re-establish a government quickly, she says, concern etching worry lines on her face. Leia was a Senator in the last vestige of the old Republic. Now she'll have to shape the new one before all-out war erupts between every two systems who ever wanted each other's resources.

Han's not involved. He's privy to war councils, not to subspace messages between diplomats and petty gangsters, all of whom want a big piece of the new government. Han's spent his whole life avoiding the government's iron fist. Why shouldn't each sector try self-rule for a while?

"It's not that simple," Leia says over dinner. "We're interlinked as a society. Each system depends on each other system for trade."

Lando agrees, taking a big bite out of the Ewoks' chewy sourdough. "Politics isn't always a dirty word, old buddy. Mostly it's the art of getting the other guy, or lady," he says with a wink at Leia, "to give you what you want without your having to cut off his head to get it. Better, it's convincing the other guy he _wants_ to give it up, that he's coming out ahead on the deal."

Han blinks incredulously. "It's all a con?"

"No," Leia says, offended, but Lando shoots him a knowing grin.

Luke is silent as they chat. He's been through a lot, Leia seems to think he went through even more than the rest of them did, and she's giving him as much kindness as the kid can bear. Her hand is always on his arm, her head resting on his shoulder.

She says he's her brother. Han's not sure how they know, or if she's being metaphorical. He's also not sure he's ever seen a sister give her brother tongue before, but they were all there for her little blow-off back on Hoth.

Leia loves Luke, Han's got no doubts there. And if Jedi are supposed to be celibate, Luke's awfully happy to weave his fingers absently through her hair.

Interesting.

Han takes another hunk of the sourdough, and breaks it into small pieces, watching them.

* * *

On the third night after the death of the Emperor, Leia accompanies Han to where the _Falcon_ sits, in the ruins of the shield generator: it's the largest clearing available, all the ships are here. Han's asked Chewie to keep an eye on things back at the impromptu base the Alliance has set up (they won't be staying, Leia swears - the Ewoks deserve their own planet back). Chewie's not fooled in the least, and Lando is even less fooled when Han tells him flat out not to drop by later.

"I don't have to tell you to treat her well," Lando says, and he doesn't (only) mean the ship.

Leia's hair spreads out on his bunk like a halo, and her skin tastes like talc, and like woodsmoke, and like the berrynut scrub she bathed with last. Han's mouth learns every inch of her, ghosting over the bandage covering her healing burn, loving every scar he finds. He only pauses to drink deep kisses from her mouth, and then, suddenly, to be turned onto his back so she can worship every scar of his she can touch.

"I've practiced," she breathes into his ear, sending a shiver of lust through him. Practice makes perfect, the med droids are programmed to instruct, including women who can practice regulating their own bodies to prevent conception. Later, as their fingers tangle together in sweet, post-coital delirium, Leia will tell him the names of the two men she's taken as lovers before him. Han will scrape together the names of the women, those whose names he ever knew.

Now he slides into her, all others forgotten. Wet and slick and tight, Leia gasps at the feel of him, the fullness, and Han presses his head against hers to still his heart or this is going to end way too soon. His fingers scrabble to find the place where their bodies join, and he finds her hand already there, rubbing at the tender spot. Her hair cascades over them, and he is drunk on the scent and feel of her. Han moans her name, biting his own lip, thinking about stardrives, anything, but it's too late and he falls over, coming hard. As soon as he can think, his hand rejoins hers, and together, they pull her orgasm from her, sweet, and high, and she convulses around him.

Their second go is better, made of slow explorations and more kisses than he ever dreamed possible. The third time is in the morning when they wake together.

It's the happiest Han's ever been. Obviously, that can't last.

* * *

"What do you mean, Coruscant?"

"I have to go. We'll never get the Senate re-established without bringing in the core planets, and the core planets want continuity." She's packing her few belongings. Leia had piles of clothes, once. Now she can pack her life into three cases. She's leaner. But she doesn't belong to Han, she belongs to the people of the Republic.

"It's never over, is it? I thought once the Rebellion won, we'd be finished with everything."

She stares at him. Sometimes, she thinks he's an idiot. He knows that, but it's not like Han's about to change now.

"The Rebellion began to overthrow the illegal hold the Empire had. We always had the goal of re-establishing the Republic. I've been a public servant my entire life. This is what I've worked for, Han."

And he's starting to get that, he is. Okay, Lando seems to get it much better, and Han's forgiven him for the Bespin deal. (If Vader had held Han's nuts in a spanner instead, Han would've had to concede Lando's friendship wasn't the most important thing to him, either.) But it's another thing entirely to note how well his old friend understands the details of Leia's new (old) life.

Han loves her. Lando might make her a better partner.

Upset and tired, he goes to bother Luke, who's practicing Jedi stuff Han doesn't understand any better than politics. But at least when Luke is smacking drones out of the air with his eyes shut, he doesn't have to worry if the spare drones are going to complain about not getting their spice shipments on time, or why the shipments are being held up because of bartering over water rights.

"You look troubled," Luke says companionably, taking the nectar drink Han brought him with a grateful smile. Luke is definitely different now, different from when they were on Hoth, different even from last week. He has an otherwordly sense about him, like he's flown to the edge of the galaxy and looked into the darkness beyond, and seen something nobody else has lived to tell about.

Luke snorts at him.

Also, Han's pretty sure Luke has learned to read minds.

"Only a little, and yours is loud. What's wrong?"

Even as Han opens his mouth, the image of Coruscant, the jeweled city-planet, pushes into his thoughts. "Leia's leaving. She's going to help set up the Republic from there. The old Senate, everything."

"I was wondering when they'd decide for sure. She's been waiting for the call."

But of course Luke would know. Luke isn't a politician, but he understands more of what Leia says than Han does. The 'stop being stupid' flash Luke gives him over his drink indicates Han is being loud about that, too. Han shrugs, defeated. "Then there's just one thing left to do."

"Yep. Pack and refuel the _Falcon_ so we can escort her there personally."

"Personally?" Han tilts his head and Luke smiles. "Personally."

* * *

It's like old home day on the _Millennium Falcon_, all Han's friends in one place. Lando's accepted a position within the new government, so he'll be joining them. Leia needs Threepio "for about a million reasons," she says, and spends a long time giving him instructions on what her requirements will be for a protocol droid. Chewbacca isn't letting the ship out of his sight, nor would Han ever ask him to. And Luke's going to bring Artoo along no matter what. Quarters aren't just cozy, they're crowded.

Leia gets the nice guest quarters, everyone agrees, leaving the men (and Wookiee) to sort out the remaining two cabins. Unexpectedly, Lando says, "I'll bunk with Chewie, if you don't mind. He snores less than Han." He nudges Luke. "And if I were you, I'd squeeze in with us. I mean it, that man can saw logs like no one's business."

"I'll try my luck," says Luke. "Anyway, the last time, I hardly noticed."

Chewie says, and Han translates, "You were unconscious and dying of blood loss at the time," and everyone laughs, because it's over and they're all alive.

Han figures Luke's read enough of his thoughts that this won't be quite as awkward as it could be. Put the ship on overnight, let Chewie and Lando close their door, and Han can just walk across the corridor. Luke knows. Hell, everyone knows, it's not like they have to pretend. Han and Leia could have said, "We're rooming together so we can have sex, pretend not to listen."

It's fine. It'll be fine.

It's less fine that the card game (who suggested a card game? oh, right) went late, and Han himself slunk into his bunk, tired out and wondering if he'd manage to go to her room tonight or not. His dreams are slurred, winding together. Han dreams of Leia's plump breasts in his hands, and he dreams of Luke's firm mouth on his prick.

He wakes to a kiss, soft as feathers on his lips. Han grins as his eyes open, thinking Leia beat him to it, but it's not Leia.

He scoots back in his bunk away from Luke's curious face. He can't deny the dream he just woke from, or the tent in his pants. "Sorry, kid," he says, and he means it.

"No, it's my fault. I thought Corellia didn't hold with the binary system."

Han hides his eyeroll. Okay, so Corellia has a reputation, and as a result, so do Corellians, but honestly, the plural marriages are barely ten percent of the total. "Not everybody's into plurals."

"Why?" There's no judgment, not the way Han expects. Luke's some hayseed farmer; Han figured his head was filled with the same kind of rubbish that gets tossed around about things not everyone agrees with. Another sigh. "I guess that's better than thinking my head is filled with sand."

"Sorry. And stop that. It's weird."

"I can't always turn it off. I'm learning. I can sense everything around me. For example," he says with a slightly wicked grin, "right now Leia is wondering where in the hell you are."

This is something they've hinted at before. "Can she hear you?"

"Sometimes."

"Tell her to come in here."

Luke closes his eyes. "She might not, you know. Like you said, weird." But twenty seconds later, there's the quietest patter on the door, and Han slides it open to let Leia inside.

"What's wrong?" she asks, looking between them.

"Nothing," Luke says, and Han feels bad now.

She looks between them again. "Did you two just use Jedi magic for a parlor trick?" She sounds like a tired schoolmarm, and Han cracks up, Luke right behind him.

"Sorry," they say together, and she sits between them on Han's bunk, fond and disgusted at once.

They end up talking, as they often do, finally nodding off together one by one. Han is the last to fall asleep, and he enjoys the sight of the pair of them tangled like puppies.

* * *

Everyone's on edge today. No one had sex, unless the droids did something Han doesn't want to know about, and nobody got much sleep. The typical jokes fall flat, and his ship, his beautiful lady, is cramped and claustrophobic with them all aboard. They compromise by hiding from one another, when this trip was supposed to be about one more gasp of togetherness before galactic politics pulled them apart. Instead, Luke's meditating, Leia's holed up with data reels going over ideas for redistribution of _something_, Threepio has already been deactivated for being a pain in the neck, and Han has retreated to the cockpit for some peace and quiet.

Of course Lando finds him and sits down uninvited. "What's got into you today? I figured the two of you wouldn't come out of your cabin until we reached Coruscant."

"Don't worry about it."

Lando runs a hand along the controls. This ship was his lady love once upon a time, and again recently. Han can't grudge him the desire, and doesn't even mind (much) that his girl likes her old Captain as much as she likes him.

"Are you going to ask her to marry you?" Lando's voice is calm, a hint of tease to it, but not really. He's letting Han be open to the notion that he's joking.

"I'm not really husband material." Certainly not husband-of-a-senator material.

"You don't think Leia could build a good husband out of any material she damn well pleases?"

Han snorts. "You'd be better at handing around canapés and making small talk."

"Yes, I would, but I'm not on the list of men she's in love with. And if you don't point out to her that you're willing to be there for the long haul, she's going to pick another name on that list."

"Don't give me dating advice, Lando. The last time you tried ... "

" ... was that set of twins from Dantooine. Don't tell me that didn't work out well." Twins? Luna and Lorna, that's right. He couldn't remember Luna's name the other night.

"What do you mean, she's got a list?"

Lando rolled his eyes. "I'm glad the two of you are together. Now make sure you're the one whose wedding I get invited to, whenever you get around to that."

"I'm not proposing today."

A shrug. "Suit yourself."

* * *

It's ship's night, the night before they make planetfall. Lando goes to his cabin early, dragging Chewie with him. He gives Luke a look, but Luke's got his spaced out face on again and doesn't notice, or doesn't care.

Not that it matters. The second the droids are settled, Han is walking Leia to her door. Luke is waiting outside. "You never did say why."

"Why what?" asks Leia, and Han has to think.

"It's just preferences," Han tries to explain, also thinking very loudly that he'd like Luke to go into his own cabin now.

Luke says, "I was asking Han about plurals yesterday. Corellians have a lot of plurals on their planet."

"I wouldn't say a lot," says Leia. "It's only about ten percent of their population in official unions. Now, unofficial plurals number around seventy percent."

"Okay, first," Han says, wanting to bang his head into the bulkhead beside him, "we're not talking Corellian politics right now."

"This isn't really political so much as sociological," Leia points out, in that voice of hers that says she's about to start lecturing, and he loves her, but he will in fact kill her if she spends tonight educating him on his own planet's customs.

Luke cracks a laugh. Han says, "And quit it."

"Sorry."

Leia asks, "Why were you talking about plurals?"

Han makes a fast decision before Lando and Chewie decide to join tonight's sociopolitical discussion. He opens the door to Leia's cabin and pushes them both inside, shutting the door. He can kick Luke out in a minute.

"We always get into weird talks," Han says. "You know that."

"Han's in love with me," says Luke. "Not as much as he's in love with you, but enough."

"Oh." Leia looks at him, and Han wants to fall through the floor.

"The mind-reading is stopping right now, Luke."

"If I could, I would. It's like all of you are shouting at me all the time, and I'm having trouble knowing what conversations I'm not supposed to have." He sits on the bunk with his face in his hands. Leia sits down next to him in that way she always does, and now Han feels like he should apologize even though he's the one whose mind keeps getting read.

He lets out a breath and sits down on Luke's other side. "How crazy are you right now?"

"Scale of one to ten? About a nine."

Last night, he told them everything that had happened on the Death Star, how the Emperor had sent bolts of energy through his body and brain, how he'd somehow absorbed them instead of collapsing like Vader did. Their father.

Leia watches his face, and to Han's shock, she bends in, kissing Luke deeply while he watches open-mouthed. The room heats, and this is literal: Han can feel energy building between them. Luke is passing some of the Force energy to his sister through her kiss. Han roughly grabs her shoulders and yanks her away.

"Stop it!" He turns to Leia. "What are you doing?"

"It's dissipating," Luke says. "It won't hurt her. I swear."

"It's all right." Her hand strokes Han's face. "Think of it like a mild discharge from a circuit. He'll be better after."

He watches them kiss again, and yes, the thick presence in the back of his mind that's been bothering him the last couple of days fades. "That's been you?"

"I've been apologizing," Luke says, resting his chin on Leia's shoulder. Leia holds him tenderly.

There's a list.

"Plurals are more common than you'd think," she says, conversationally, stroking Luke's hair. "Corellia is the only place they're completely legal, but my father was working on legislation to legalize them on Alderaan because he had so many friends who wanted recognition of theirs."

This again. Han's about to smart off about politics not belonging in the bedroom, and they _both_ sigh at him. "Han," Luke says, "think."

"You're a Jedi. Jedi don't do that sort of thing." He's built this argument inside his own head, he knows it pretty well. Even an old, dead religion is a religion. You don't scope out the priests.

"I am the only Jedi left. I think I can choose what a Jedi does and doesn't do." Luke telegraphs the kiss, but Leia doesn't make any kind of protest as he kisses her again, passion raking his fingers through her hair the way Han wants to right now. This is the third time tonight Han has watched brother and sister kiss, and when they break, her lips are lush, and his eyes are steady as he turns.

Just as before, Luke exaggerates his motions, giving Han time to pull away like he did last night. Han makes himself still, lets Luke's breath warm him, lets his lips press deliberately. His mouth parts and the tingle comes through, warm, purple energy behind his eyes. A discharge, Leia said, neglecting to mention that it sizzles through every vein and pops out at the groin.

"Wow," says Han when they stop to breathe. Leia is nestled behind Luke, placing her lips at the cord of his neck.

"You're in love with me," Luke says, "and you're in love with her."

Han nods his head, he can't do anything but agree. "But you two are twins."

Leia says, "Other than the three of us, no one else knows. Everyone who did know died." She's leaning against Luke. Han knows she's been in love with Luke at least since the night at the Ewok village, probably as long as he has been. And as Luke reaches for him again, Han has no doubts how deeply Luke loves them both.

"This is never gonna work."

"It might."

Luke's the innocent in the room. He's had no lover besides his own hand. He's easy to strip, and the hard lines of his muscles under his monk-black clothes are perfect for skimming fingernails and teeth across to map them. His own delighted explorations of Han and Leia mirror their lovemaking from the other night, and his hands, however inexperienced, offer the same tenderness to the same painful memories.

Han remembers this, remembers the satin over steel feeling of another man's prick in his hand. He remembers the taste, too, all sweat-salty skin and sea-rich semen gathering at the tip. Luke's first burst is into Han's mouth, his startled cries muffled by the kisses Leia presses into his lips. There's room in the bunk, just enough, for Han and Leia to make love right beside him after, pushed against him skin to skin, his hands roaming her body, reaching up to stroke Han's shoulders as he watches them.

There are words for this. Han's picked them up over the years, wanting to learn and never admitting. He's seen the holovids of men together, slicked with oils before their bodies join. Tomorrow night, or the next, some night soon, he and Luke will figure that out, but for now, Leia is clenched around him with the sweetest wetness. Han groans and releases into her. Luke, much younger, is ready for a second go, and Leia guides him into her body, anxious and taut, on the edge of her peak. Han wiggles his head as she rides Luke, positioning himself in the perfect place to lick her, to stroke him.

Leia comes with a keen, and Han tumbles his way to settle behind her, holding her up as Luke thrusts into her from below. She bends around to kiss him, and the electricity pulses between them, among them. This is right, he thinks, and he can hear them thinking, and they agree completely.

* * *

These things are true:

Han Solo is in love with Leia Organa, and he is in love with Luke Skywalker, and they are in love with him. The thing with Chewbacca is on a completely different level, although it runs just as deep.

Plural unions are on the agenda for legalization when the Senate finally convenes, but that's going to take a lot more negotiation.

This is the happiest Han has ever been in his entire life.

Lando can stop smirking any time now.

* * *

end


End file.
